Page 77 of The Scot’s Secret

“Did you not hear what I told you earlier? I am the daughter of a traitor, hunted down by a man who will soon be the King of England. I’ve already lost my father and Gilbert. Do you think I have any desire to see another man killed protecting me?”

Clara still didn’t move. Though her words were impassioned, her expression remained neutral. She truly believed that anyone who tried to protect her was in mortal danger.

“Do you believe either of those men would not give their lives twice over to save you again? That I would not do the same? Would it be necessary to do so living in Scotland?

This time, her expression did change. “What are you saying?” she whispered.

“I’m saying, Clara of Barrington, that some things are more important to a man than his life.”

And damn if he didn’t mean it.

He couldn’t stay here. He had thought he could protect her and act honorably, but he could not. If he stayed a moment longer, Alex would pull her against him and bury himself so deeply inside her neither of them would ever question his intentions again.

Without another word, he turned from her, got out of the bed, and dressed. He forced himself not to look back at her as he made his way to the door. His hand hesitated for just a moment, but good sense prevailed.

Alex walked out as quietly as he had entered.

19

“I saw the way you and Alex Kerr looked at each other last eve. So no, I don’t believe you,” Emma said to Clara, who followed her down the sea path to the water’s edge.

When Alex had not made an appearance in the hall to break his fast, she’d been both relieved and annoyed. The elation she’d felt the evening before had completely faded.

Lady Susanna was a lie. She could never safely be herself, and Alex could never be hers.

“There is nothing between us,” she said for the tenth time that morning. But when Emma spun around and caught her smiling—she couldn’t help but react to the absurdity of her own comment—Clara was caught.

“So there may be something, but—”

“May be, might be, is,” Emma replied.

After breaking their fast, Emma had taken Clara around Kenshire. They’d missed the midday meal because of it, but Emma hadn’t seemed concerned. They’d visited the kitchen upon their return, and Clara had discovered why. Cook, a plump, stern-looking woman, had given Emma a basket of bread and cheese with a mild admonishment. “Miss another meal, mi’lady, and don’t expect your pears at dinner.”

Though Cook was outspoken for a servant, Clara could see she enjoyed a close relationship with Lady Emma. The relationship between the family and their servants reminded her very much of Barrington. Like Gilbert, many of their servants and retainers had been more like family to them. It had made losing her home that much harder.

They sat on the same rocks as before. It was nice to rest for a moment.

Emma opened the basket and tore off a piece of bread, handing it to her with a chunk of cheese. They ate in companionable silence, and Clara tried to enjoy the unusually sunny day. It was easy to understand why this was Sara’s favorite spot in all of Kenshire.

“Tell me,” Emma said, packing up the remainder of their light repast.

Both dressed simply in front-laced sideless surcoats, hers borrowed, of course. The white of their under tunics peeked out, making them appear almost twins in dress although they were very different in other ways. Clara found herself wishing she could remain friends with both Emma and Lady Sara. If only there was a way she could stop hiding. . .

“There’s naught to tell,” she lied.

Emma rolled her eyes. “Have you been intimate with him?”

Clara gasped.

“I leave protocol to other ladies. Well, not Sara. And definitely not my new sister-in-law. That woman curses as badly, nay, worse, than any man. Actually—”

“Okay, okay.”

“I do suppose we hardly know each other. But—”

“We have,” she admitted.

Emma’s eyes widened. “Have you—”